Bloodstream
by Sereneffect
Summary: How was he supposed to go on, knowing that she was in everything? Post-Reapers, Post-Synthesis. Oneshot, lots of feels (the sad kind). Rated conservatively (for triggers)


**I wish I could explain where this came from, but I have no idea. For the full effect, I recommend a song called "Bloodstream" by Stateless. _That's_ probably where this came from.**

* * *

People kept saying that they could feel part of Commander Shepard inside of them. Ever since the Crucible had fired, ever since that wave of eerie green energy had washed over the galaxy, people said they could sense Her presence in everything. Some said they felt braver, stronger… more confident, more caring…

He couldn't stand it.

He didn't feel anything. He felt numb. Nothing… He didn't feel Her strength in his convictions, or Her kindness in his soul. He felt emptiness where his heart had been. He felt dead.

He couldn't bear to hear people talk about Her anymore.

In the back of his mind, he was dimly aware that he should get out of bed, but it only got harder and harder with every passing day. Some days, it took hours to force himself up. Longer, if he was going to get dressed. Some days he couldn't get up at all. Some days he wished he wouldn't wake up.

He didn't even have to strength to push the blankets off his head.

But thankfully, no one was so heartless to tell him that there was a beautiful day outside. A gift, that he was squandering. No one could say that to him.

No one but her.

"Garrus, get up."

He didn't even try to answer, closing his eyes tight and trying desperately to snatch sleep back again. It had been a good dream, She had been there. She'd kissed him, told him She loved him… He swallowed hard, the familiar stab of sadness cutting into his heart like searing agony. He had nothing…

"Garrus. Get up."

_No… go away… Leave me alone…_

Sometimes he wished he felt Her in the everyday. Sometimes he wanted to taste Her in every breath of fresh air, smell Her in the cool breezes… Sometimes he wished he had never fallen for Her.

Every part of him felt like something was missing, as though the very essence of his blood was gone.

The blankets were jerked off of him, but he didn't even open his eyes, curling up on his side as if to keep the world out. _There's nothing for me out there._

"Garrus, you have to get up. They expect you of all people to be there."

No. He couldn't go. He couldn't look at everyone being so happy. Even through his eyelids, he could see the statue they'd commissioned for Her memorial. Hackett had showed him the plan, as if it was supposed to make him happy, but… He'd been sick to his stomach. _Just one more reminder She's never coming back…_

"Garrus, look at me."

No. He couldn't do it. He didn't want to. He couldn't bear a world without Her in it. Not even one that was steeped in Her.

He missed Her hand on his cheek, Her lips against his plates… Her head tucked under his chin. He could still imagine how it felt to hold Her tight.

"Garrus Vakarian, you get out of that bed right now."

He cracked one eye open and was met by Liara's angry stare. "Why?" he finally croaked out, flexing his fingers against the sheets. She would always smell the sheets when they were freshly cleaned, said they smelled "safe"… All he could smell was heartache. He felt as if someone had cracked his chest open and ripped his heart out.

Silence stretched on and he closed his eyes again. If he didn't move, maybe the world would pass him by, leave him for dead and finally let him forget. If he forgot, then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much…

The mattress dipped beside his knee, and he felt a cool hand on his ankle. "We all miss her, Garrus… I know this is hard. I miss her too."

He wasn't even sure if he missed Her. If it was just missing Her, then why did he find himself wishing he was dead? _I should have died with Her, or in London… Then at least we'd be together._ "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

He let out a low laugh and finally looked at her again. "Does it matter?" He didn't eat. Couldn't. Food tasted like ash in his mouth, and his body had long since stopped asking for nourishment.

"Garrus, don't do this."

He didn't even answer, staring despondently at the wall. There was no reason for him to care. He had no reason to keep living.

"She wouldn't have wanted this. You know Shepard would—"

"Don't." He felt as if a knife had been shoved through his carapace and twisted. One word. Two syllables. Just a name. And it felt as if he was being drowned. He _wished_ he was being drowned… One year ago, he had been so sure… now he wanted to suffocate on his grief.

"She wouldn't have wanted you to live like this."

Was that what he was doing? Living? Maybe that was why he hated it so much. "I can't… be there. I can't… see everyone." Every word felt like a part of him was dying. Was there any part that hadn't died? Liara was good at putting on a brave face, they all were… he couldn't. "I can't see it."

"You have to." Her expression was firm and she grabbed his wrist. It was her Shadow Broker face, and no matter what he said, he knew she would make him. She seemed to be the only one who could get him to do anything anymore. He didn't know if he hated her for it or not. "Come on." She dragged him to his feet and he leaned against the wall, expression sullen as she threw open his closet. "Do any of these still fit you? You haven't been eating."

He knew it, and shrugged. Why did it matter? She was never coming back… He didn't give a damn about anything else.

Liara sighed as she tossed something onto the bed and pushed him toward the bathroom. "Shower. Now. And if I have to go in there after you, you're going to regret it."

His arms felt like lead as the still-frigid water sloughed off his back, but his mind was thousands of miles away. They'd talked about retiring somewhere tropical… About finding out what their baby would look like… He had to put a hand on the wall as his knees threatened to buckle. What did he have left to live for, if it had all been taken from him? He closed his eyes again as the water began to turn warm, and he could see Her on the inside of his eyelids, smiling as they'd sat in Her cabin, relaxing for a rare moment with Her feet in his lap. She'd wiggled Her toes at him and laughed when he'd made some bad joke about them. _Come back¸_ his shattered heart begged as he fell to his knees, trying to force air into his lungs, _come back, come back._

She'd cried once, when Her mother's ship had been shot down over Vancouver. She'd sobbed, and he had wondered how a single being could possess so much sadness. Now he understood. And wished that he could force out the gratifying sobs as She had. But they had always been different. He still was. He couldn't.

He couldn't even think about Her, and they expected him to watch them erect a memorial to Her.

Liara said nothing, smiling sadly when he finally stumbled out, and helped him pull on the clothes. She was right, they were too big now, but he didn't care. Why did it matter?

He didn't remember leaving his apartment, or getting in a car, or driving to that fateful spot at London's center. He didn't remember being pulled out of the car, or being led through the crowd of people to a podium. He was dimly aware of people hugging him—his friends, he knew them—but he felt as if he were watching someone else in his body. Everyone mumbled condolences as if that would dull the pain, but he didn't hear. Liara kept one arm looped with his, making him move, making him stay standing. Forcing him not to run away.

Hackett's speech sounded like it was miles away, under an ocean, but people clapped, and cheered, and chanted Her name. He wanted to die, but Liara squeezed his arm and whispered that he should wave. He could barely lift his arm, yet they cheered all the louder.

They hadn't lost anything near so precious.

The men drawing off the curtain were Her old unit, someone had said, but when it finally fell away his mind went blank. She stood, immortalized in bronze against the crystalline blue sky. In one hand, She held a gun, Her other on Her hip. They'd dyed the metal so the red stripe on Her arm stood out. His throat felt tight as the roar went up from the crowd, and Liara pressed close to his side as if she knew. Every detail of Her face was meticulous, a perfect replica, exactly as he remembered, yet it only made the ache in his chest worse. Her eyes were supposed to be green…

"Think about what you loved about her."

He wanted to crawl back into his bed and sleep until everyone had forgotten about him. Forgotten that he lived… Forgotten that he'd loved Her. He couldn't, but maybe if everyone else did…

"Remember what made you love her."

He could feel Liara looking up at him, but he couldn't answer. It hurt, to even think of Her. Just remembering Her face was crippling agony, knowing he would never see Her smile again.

"Remember everything she did, all the time you had together. I know…" He could hear her swallow and try again. "I know it wasn't nearly long enough, but at least you had time. Try to treasure the time you had."

He forced himself to take a long breath, and for an instant, he could smell the coppery tang of Her hair. It froze him, paralyzed him for a breath before it rushed out of him. For an instant, he could feel Her warm caress in the breeze on his neck. For an instant, he could hear Her laughter in the clangor.

_Come back_, he thought desperately, searching the sea of unremarkable faces, _come back, come back._ Desperation struck him like a blow behind his eyes, and Liara wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as he dropped to the ground, ragged, broken gasps shaking him.

He wished he hadn't felt Her the way everyone else had.

He wished he had some part of Shepard.

She still had his heart.


End file.
